Black Skies and Broken Stars
by ResidentOfCabin6
Summary: "She remembered a vague notion to bid the stars hello, but she could not so much as find the moon. There was nothing but blackness, for her skies had clouded over and her stars lay broken on the ground." / Annabeth and Percy were struggling with the aftereffects of Tartarus, and no one seems to know how to help them beat their newest enemy; their minds.
1. The Heart Crying Tears of Lethe

**Hi. Here with another story. I skipped updating last week for the purpose of fine-tuning this, so I hope you guys appreciate this. No, this is not a one-shot. Yes, this is entirely canon. Let me know what you all think because I was once again experimenting with a new style. That said, I hope you guys enjoy and stay awesome.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

 **-ROC6**

 **Possible trigger warning: Mentions of insanity.**

Annabeth's heart was crying tears of Lethe. It wanted so badly to forget, for her to forget, that it physically ached. And as the world spun around her, faster, faster, faster, in nauseating, soul-crushing circles, reality was crumbling at her fingertips. She was grasping and pulling and yanking, but everything was falling to pieces before her.

And it was unexplainable, irrational, frustrating to no end. Every time she blinked, she was in a classroom, in a bed, _home_ , then she'd open her eyes again and it was gone. Everything was gone. Sometimes she was blind, other times her eyes felt sewn open so she could behold all of the horrors that lay spread before her as her mind slowly unraveled. The air was always acid, whether her eyes were open or closed, and it was poisoning her from the inside out, because every time she blinked, she was back in New York.

Or was it the other way around? Every time she blinked she was back _there_. In the pit, in Tartarus, and her mind wouldn't believe that she'd escaped. She'd be doing something simple. Washing her hands, brushing her teeth. And then the shaking would start. It would start in her mind, where no one would see, then it would spread to her heart, then her eyes, and her hands, until her entire body was shaking, trembling, as she crumbled to dust in the wind. She could clearly see it. The blood, the pain, the fear. She could reach out and touch them, the emotions that entangled her mind and ensnared her heart. She'd forgotten how to feel anything else.

And as she marched, through life, through Tartarus, _whichever one was real_ , (they were both real,) she felt herself slipping away. As she grasped at reality and her memories and the smell of strawberries in the mornings and burning marshmallows at night, she felt the very fabric of her life unraveling, one strand at a time. It was happening slowly, at first, but it was slowly getting faster, and someday it would happen all at once.

She was flailing, losing, grasping at the remnants of herself, the echoes in her soul screaming that _No!_ She _wouldn't_ lose. She _couldn't_ lose.

 _She was losing_.

There was a simple truth, a simple beauty. She was _losing_. She was grasping tooth and claw, but she was so tired she just wanted to collapse and fold in on herself and let it do what it would because she had been fighting so, so long and she couldn't fight anymore, even though not fighting meant losing herself because she was exhausted and everything was running together. Day into night, night into day, and she couldn't fathom how she'd ever escape the unending cycle. Like a dream it floated at the edge of her memory-reality, that was-and she was doing everything she could to find it, casting out blindly in the everlasting night to try to land her anchor where she could grab on and pull herself out into the light. But she was suffocating, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't feel anything but fear and pain and the love burning dimly inside her heart.

And all the while he was next to Annabeth, casting out just as blindly, just like her, thrusting out a piece of his soul with every push and falling just as hard as she was. His eyes glowed a haunting green, sickly and acidic and brave and strong and she could see it leeching away at him just as it was leeching away at her, but she couldn't lose him, that was the only thing she was certain of. Her world had shrunken long ago. It wasn't dreams, wasn't futures. Wasn't the past, or her memories, or her feelings. It was just him. _Percy_. She was holding on for him.

Her hands were burning and her arms were aching and she didn't know how much longer she could hold on, but her heart beat weakly every time she saw him and for once she felt-what was it? Alive. And dimly, somewhere in the back of her mind, she could recall blue cookies and smiles and nicknames on the beach. Good times and memories and links to what they had been. _Who_ they had been.

And it was hard, so very difficult, as she collected the broken pieces of her life and attempted to force them together into something she could even begin to recognize because everything was falling to pieces and she had broken long ago. She had been crushed into oblivion until she couldn't distinguish herself from the ghosts that gazed back at her every time she looked in the mirror. They haunted her, followed her, and sometimes she would look at them and say hello, and they'd vanish. Then, she was alone again, just her and Percy against the world.

Just like it had always been. Sometimes they had help, she could still recall. A glow of silver and a warm smile and a hand to hold when she was scared. Someone that knew how she felt and had beat it in a way she knew she never could. Other times it was another, an outcast like herself that had to slay his demons every day, struggling and drowning as he tried to keep himself afloat. But at the end of the day, they were always gone, and it was just her and Percy again, dreaming of a life they both knew they'd never have.

And it always left her cold, chilled to the bone, and maybe that was why she was shaking so much. It was like a permafrost had settled upon her, clouding her mind and freezing her body and settling upon her heart so quickly it _snapped_ because she was frozen in a nightmare she did not want and could not leave, the horrors of the world laid upon her weary mind as she struggled to find any shred of warmth and everything was slowly slipping from her grasp. It was all frozen behind a wall of ice, where she could see the hazy shapes but couldn't break through as her heart felt _pain pain pain pain pain-_

She wished for a little girl with bright eyes and broken gaze that had just watched her best friend die, wished to be the girl that realized her brother had turned against her and there was nothing she could do, wished to be lost in another time before she'd seen the true terrors the world had to offer, because the world was so much colder without the kisses of innocence.

And her heart was crying tears of Lethe, as she struggled through the freezing night with nothing to guide her but the warm hand clasped in her own, altogether more life in their clasped hands than the rest of her body. She could not remember a time before the cold and dark, another echo of herself extinguished with every drop, until she ceased to exist. She remembered a vague notion to bid the stars hello, but she could not so much as find the moon. There was nothing but blackness, for her skies had clouded over and her stars lay broken on the ground.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

Annabeth smiled. And it might seem small, inconsequential, but it happened, and it felt _good_. She still wasn't used to it. But she was certain, now, that she was free, that they were free, for how could she hallucinate such mundane monotony? There was still the part of her, the one she fought when the sun was low and the moon was gone and the voices in her heard switched from whispers to shrieks, that said _What if it's all just a dream?_ And they cackled and chanted _You'll never escape. You'll never escape._ ( _You'll never escape!_ ) But she had beat them, for how else would she be able to smile now? And this feeling, of her mouth pulled wide in some sort of contorted grimace and her eyes narrowed, blocked by the pull of her cheeks and this feeling deep inside her edging away from her chest, almost as though she had a heart...

It felt good. Not just good, but it made her feel the soft _thump thump thump_ thrumming through her veins again, and even if she couldn't think without the sensation of falling and a fearful cry, she thought that just maybe her heart was coming back. And as Percy gazed at her and whispered he loved her, she found her lips moving slowly, softly, testing the words and absorbing the feeling they brought forth in her as she said them, then slowly her lips sped up and pressed against his all of the while still repeating the key phrase as her heart performed an intricate, well-known dance with him _I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you-_

Nothing else mattered to her, not the whispers nor the ghosts nor the echoes she felt of who they used to be, the ripples of people they'd long forgotten how to be hidden in the eyes of their friends. It was just them, then and there, as she knew it always would be, for he had leapt from sanity to be with her, and she'd do (done?) the same for him. There were no gods, no quests, no wars, no neglect, no errands (, no servitude). It was peace. Her arms still trembled when she saw blood, her eyes still cast over the world with a nebulous gaze as her mind lay trapped in peril, but she had Percy. It didn't matter to her that her soul had crawled away to the River Cocytus or that her heart swam in the Lethe, for Annabeth still had Percy (and he still had her). And she had to be healing, she was sure that's what this feeling was, for she had _smiled_ and she could feel herself joining back together?

(The whispers in her ear screeched and cackled as they softly sang, _Are you sure?_ )

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

The sound had bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of her, a well she had thought to have dried up long ago. Yet, here it was, a bubbling sort of sound, full of a feeling she hadn't felt in a while.

Percy smiled at her, grinning lopsidedly at her startled expression, "You alright there, Wise Girl? Don't think too hard."

Annabeth cuffed the back of his head, "Seaweed Brain. "

But there was the sound again, happy and flowing and innocent. Laughter.

And somewhere inside her, beyond the exhaustion and sorrow and the pain she still felt every time her eyes shut for even a millisecond despite having escaped months ago (though the voices still told her otherwise), there was laughter, and happiness, and a sense of peace. And it was such a new feeling, one she wasn't sure she had ever felt before. Yet, here it was, scratching and clawing from the depths of a soul that she thought she'd lost a long time ago, swimming up from somewhere deep inside where she had thought it had drowned.

She and Percy were healing, at least somewhat (despite, a bitter voice added, the complete lack of help from the gods (. But why would they start helping now? They never cared, anyway)). For when she looked at Percy she no longer saw the emaciated figure and the pale skin and the scars, she just saw her Seaweed Brain. She didn't see the shadows in his eyes or the coldness in his gaze or the harshness in his voice. She just saw the love in his heart and the loyalty that bound him to her deep from his very core (or what was left of it).

When Annabeth looked in the mirror, she no longer hid from the ghosts that surrounded her; she knew she'd long since faded into one. She could hear the sighs of their forgotten dreams, gone like mist in a hurricane, and she threw hers right in. But she was healing, of that she was certain, for she looked more like a spirit than a corpse. Her skin was lacking the unearthly pallor it had developed, and her frame was not quite so painfully thin. Her wounds had long since healed, though she still felt phantom pains in her ankle, and the scars were starting to fade (or so she told herself). And though she would never be who she had been, she was alive, and she had Percy, and that was all that mattered.

( _And us!_ chorused the voices in her mind (but it did not bother her, for she'd long since befriended them).)

She and Percy were not the same, and never would be, for the horrors of Tartarus would never leave them. They still saw the ghostly flame and smelled the acrid smoke and heard the lonely screams of the tortured, and she and Percy would never quite be at peace, but what was peace if not dull?

There was no tomorrow, just as there was no yesterday, for nothing mattered but today. Percy was with Annabeth, and she was with him, forever until the end of their time (for there wasn't a doubt in either of their minds that they would leave together). And there was no talk of families or futures, simply the struggle of making it through today, and another today, and another, surviving here and now, _today_ , for all of their eternity (for they weren't stupid enough to think that they'd be freed with death (they had already died, in a way)).

The others didn't understand (except Nico. Nico understood). They would say _remember the time…?_ Or _hey, what are you planning on doing…?_ They thought that they were still the same heroes that been slaves to the immortals. The pawns in a game of chess that could turn into queens with the right push, but were useless and dispensable nonetheless. But, like angels cast from heaven, they had fallen. Their dreams had rotted and their wings tore as they shed their feathers of hope until it was easier to chop their wings off altogether, for they were no longer the creatures of heaven, but rather the demons they'd been made.

Annabeth was not blind (despite how blind the voices made her out to be). She'd heard the mocking note that had entered Percy's sarcasm (except when he spoke to her). She'd seen the harsh glint in his eyes, and the deliberateness of his movements when he killed monsters. She'd noticed the offsetting note in his laugh, and how he gripped too tightly and would often press too hard when sparring. But he wasn't alone. She'd noticed how she watched the world with a cold detachment (like him), a clinical distance, as though she wasn't watching other life forms but rather a fascinating television show. She'd noticed how her words had been sharper, her gaze harsher, her plans more violent, uncaring of injury. She'd noticed how her architecture had grown to be all hard edges and sharp turns. But she was strong. And Percy was strong. And they had been disillusioned to the cruelty of the world.

And so they looked at the black skies in their perpetual night, and the stars that lay broken on the ground, and they gathered the dust that had been left behind. Glittering and glowing softly, they gathered up the forgotten pieces, so small no one had bothered to destroy them until they had a tiny star glowing in their palms. It was only bright enough to light up each other, but it was the only light in the unending dark, and it was bright enough for them to laugh.

Percy bumped her shoulder, and she became aware of the cool air nipping her cheeks, "What are you thinking about, Wise Girl?"

She laughed.


	2. The Blade of a Thousand Nightmares

**Hey-o everyone, I'm back. This story I'm updating a little more slowly, as you have noticed, since I haven't yet finished writing it. For all of you that have enjoyed this so far, I'm glad, and for all of you that are a little concerned with the descriptions and introspection, I'm sorry. This is one of the few things lately I have written purely for my own enjoyment, and while I really hope you guys enjoy this, I won't be changing it, either. That being said, I hope you guys enjoy, and stay awesome!**

 **-ROC6**

Annabeth had broken to pieces long ago. If one were to ask her exactly when, though, she wouldn't be able to say. For all she knew, it was when she fell down down down into the pits of Tartarus (a part of her flinched at the name, and the voices cackled sharply _Tartarus Tartarus Tartarus!_ ) that the failing glue that had always held her together had fallen apart, but it could have happened as long ago as when she was six years old and realized her father never wanted her (but who would want a demon like her? ( _Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy_ )). And there was a part of her, buried deep inside, that thought maybe the final blow was when she came above and realized the pit was more of a home to her than the world from which she came. (The pit called to her still, but she knew she could never go back ( _she was already there_ ).)

But when, exactly, she had broken apart didn't matter, she realized, as the Fates continued to bend her and twist her and force her fate out of her hands, (it was too much to ask to be free,) because the world didn't care for her as much as she didn't care for it. And it hurt her to live and to be forced to jump through the hoops set before her, for she wasn't some mindless beast, set to do the bidding of others. She could see clearly now, without the veil of good and evil, for there was no good and evil, only her (them(us)) versus the world, for right and wrong no longer mattered in a world as black as hers. And yet, the mindless beasts around her continued to order her, look to her. _What do we do, Annabeth?_ They begged her to know. _What's the plan?_ And there was a part of her, a part she'd long given up trying to squash, cheering deep inside at the desperation in their eyes and the distress painted along the curves of their faces as they sought some response-any response-she'd give them. But every time, she pulled away. For no matter who gave them, orders were still orders, and she hated following orders. (The voices cackled in her mind.) And with each passing day, her desperation was growing stronger and she just- wanted- to-

It burbled up deep inside her from a long forgotten well. The sound was jagged and scratchy and it pierced the heavy silence. The others must have thought her insane, but she couldn't bring herself to care. They backed away slowly with shaking hands and wide, cornered eyes. (What were they to do?)

"Annabeth," a blue-eyed girl ventured, her jagged black hair blowing from the soft silver glow of her skin in the rising storm, "Annabeth. Are you alright?"

Annabeth doubled over, for she couldn't contain it anymore, and the broken, disconcerting laughter continued to bubble up from somewhere, and she couldn't hold it back. Her eyes squinted and her face contorted and she laughed so hard it hurt, but something about it was just so very funny. It just kept coming, and she couldn't breathe now as the excruciating pain spread throughout her body into something much deeper, already shriveled and weak, and she was laughing so hard her eyes were burning and there were tears running down her cheeks-

Then suddenly, it wasn't laughter, but deep and heavy sobbing, and now she definitely couldn't breathe, for how was it fair that such a weak and broken creature as herself would survive when Nico di Angelo was dead? She felt an arm around her shoulders as the unearthly silence that had fallen over the funeral was punctured only by her broken sobs. The others didn't understand, couldn't understand, what they had been through. (Only Nico had.) She pressed her face into a familiar chest smelling faintly of the ocean and cookies and memories and shadows and darkness and fear-

Then suddenly her face was stiff and dry, and all emotions were gone. Her face was as expressionless as Percy's steely gaze as she watched the black flame devour the last of the gorgeous cloth, black as night with burning red undertones and the wings of an angel stitched so delicately on top. All of the while Percy had not shed a tear, only gazed into the fire with the same detached gaze she mirrored, the same fury hidden beneath. And there was something in that fury, a passionate, lively gleam, buried deep inside the fury that now consumed her so completely (except for the tiny, fragile, human part of her soul she'd buried in the ash of her dreams) that captivated what was left of her capacity to feel.

The gods had done this. The thought came unbidden to her mind, a truth she still tried to squash deep inside her. A part of her latched onto the thought. ( _Yes!_ The voices screeched, louder, louder, _Yes!_ ) The gods had done this, and, as she watched a golden eyed girl with a cool detachment as she cried over her dead brother, it came to her, not for the first time, that it wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair.

The gods had never been fair, she knew that. She knew demigods often died young. But the gods had done this, not the beasts of Tartarus. The gods were the monsters. They were children, all of them, and they didn't deserve their thrones. Because, of course, Hermes was mad at Aphrodite and went and stole her hand mirror. And, of course, Ares and Hephaestus both tried to retrieve it, making the situation worse. And logically, Apollo and Artemis both sided with Hermes, and things continued to detonate, one explosion setting off another, until the gods were on the brink of a civil war, and needed slaves to do their bidding.

She and Percy had been the first pick, and she had to admit, it amused her to see Zeus' face turn such a revolting shade of red. Nonetheless, the King of the Gods moved on, calling on Nico di Angelo to stop the war in their stead, but he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready, and that's why he appeared in the dining pavilion with his sword through his stomach and his body caked with blood.

And all of it could have been avoided if the gods. Simply. Grew. Up. And it made her so angry, brewed at a fury she had long kept buried deep inside, all of the rage she harbored over all of the death she'd seen, and sent it boiling over until her mind was blank and there was nothing to stop her (as the voices edged her on). She was furious, (she had to be,) and everyone would know it. (For if she wasn't furious, she might just get lost in the sorrow inside her (as deep and dark as the pits of Chaos (and she knew there was no escape (there never would be), for she had seen too many die (felt them too close (and too real)) to let herself feel anymore))). She was furious, for she had nothing else to be.

And suddenly, the flames were gone (Nico was gone), and she had nothing and no one but herself. (And Percy, there was always Percy.) So she took a hand in hers, relishing in its warmth, and its sensation of living. When she was with Percy, there wasn't anything they couldn't overcome. They could rule the world and watch it burn down around them, if only for the sheer pleasure of it all. Their hands were slick with blood, and everything they touched turned red, a form of twisted Minos' curse, so why bother being careful? Their everything broke anyway, nothing good had ever come of careful.

And maybe she was broken, she knew, as Percy led her towards the woods, but she had broken long ago. And they could rule the world together and watch it burn right to the ground.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

Annabeth felt like an invader in a stranger's body. For no, these couldn't be her hands, so terribly weak and pale and breakable (broken). Her hands were swathed in (sticky) red, and even if no one could see it, she could (and it was so sticky, why was it so sticky? (why couldn't' she get it off? (it wasn't coming off- ( _it wasn't coming off it wasn't coming off it wasn't coming off, it wasn't-_ )))). Her hands glowed an ethereal scarlet, far too beautiful for what it was, for what it said, all of the words echoing in the empty space inside her where no one else could hear. And she couldn't bring herself to care for the tiny things that used to seem so important.

What good were books and letters with hands that ripped and clawed? ( _Red, so very very red.)_ What good were classes and numbers with wretched gods like hers? ( _That screamed and shrieked and killed.)_ What good were dreams and drawings when all her life was dead? ( _And maybe she was, too, dead to the world where it really mattered.)_

It was so hard to act like it mattered anymore. So very, strenuously difficult. For she had no need of useless classes with useless teachers droning on about things they did not understand. She had no need of dances and homework and essays and dreams. She had no need of a perfect life with perfect friends and a perfect family, for life was not perfect. She had no need to plan for tomorrow when she couldn't even face today, for she had no dreams and she had no future, and it felt like she was the only one that saw it. And it was so very difficult to act like nothing was wrong when everything was so very, very wrong.

And she knew he felt it, too, saw it in the thrumming of his hands, the barely constrained power hidden in his smile, the harshness in his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to spend time with him, to spend all her time with him, the very little she had left until their world burned down around them. She wanted to count every shadow in his eyes and every scar across his mind, examine every detail about Percy so thoroughly that she would never forget. For the gods were wrong, and they were wrong and everything was so very, very wrong, but at least, for now, they could be wrong together.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

Dreams had plagued Annabeth as much as memories did, with their ever-shifting focus. Their ever-shifting reality. Nothing in dreams was real, but somehow it seemed more grounded than any reality she'd experienced in a long while. The way shadows crept in through every crevice and every silence was punctuated by some distant sobbing from some broken person she couldn't see. It all seemed as though the veil separating her gaze from the truth of the world had been lifted, and in her dreams, it was clearer than ever. Sometimes, her mind screamed of fire and brimstone, the stench of death rifling her features and sifting through her form, as though counting the days until it claimed her, and sometimes it was her and Percy, running and hiding and scratching and clawing and _fighting fighting fighting_ until they had nothing left to give and darkness claimed them together.

On rare occasions, her dreams betrayed something useful. Marble columns and blue skies and clouds drifting through the sky like scratches from terrible claws that simply refused to heal, barely there and wisp-like, but there nonetheless. Once, her dreams betrayed a meeting, a vision of power and nature, elements of the world pulling at each other's throats not with claws but with words. They were panicked and worried, expressing it the only way they knew how, through petty screams and angry shouts. After all, their two strongest pawns no longer answered their desperate, begging pleas. What were they to do? At one time, even her mother visited her in a dream, everything about her harsh angles and bitterly frigid distance.

A detached gaze and regal structure, gazing down from sharp features and an arched brow, "Your bitterness is unbecoming, Annabeth."

 _Your bitterness is unbecoming._

Annabeth's mind was blank, nothing but the roaring of blood in her ears and ashes of the blanket that had long ago been lifted from her eyes. The goddess had not bothered with any simple questions about how she'd been, no concern as to what was happening with her daughter, not even the barest hint of affection beneath her mother's stony gaze, merely an assessment of her usefulness and _your bitterness is unbecoming_. She fought the urge to scream, to start clawing and scratching and pulling at everything that reminded her of the wretched being that called herself Annabeth's mother. The rage that was burning deep inside her, that had slowly been consuming every part of her that was left, hunting them to the nooks and crannies as it burned away every aspect of her that made her who she was, leaving nothing but a supernova of flames burning blindingly hot, screaming at her _It's all their fault! It's all their fault! It's all their fault!_ until she could not distinguish between the screams of the voices and the whispers of her mind as the rage bent and tore and screamed apart that which was already broken.

Athena's ethereal face was twisted with concern, and the goddess was voicing something low, rushed and desperate, but all Annabeth could hear was the screaming of the voices ( _Liar! Liar! Liar!_ ).

 _Your bitterness is unbecoming._

She moved with a surgical precision, casting out with all of her strength, for suddenly, in the ever so perfect land of the gods, she was lunging and pushing with every ounce of force she could muster. For though it was a fight she could not win, she only needed one good hit to make her mother bleed and bring the gods to their knees.

And suddenly, she found herself grasping a deadly bronze blade, sharpened to a deadly point. It held itself sure, pointed at her true enemy, and she realized with a start and a long-muted cry that this blade was the one she'd lost in the land beyond dreams, the land black beyond all conception, and she let loose a bitter smile at the memory. How appropriate.

The knife was clasped loosely in her fingers, with a surprising amount of grace and enough strength that no force could pull it free from her grasp, it was like a paintbrush in a master's hand as she took one careful, beautiful stroke after another, graceful in their deadly arcs. And her mother, her cunning, stupid mother, had her back pressed tight to one of her sickeningly perfect marble pillars.

A grin rose to Annabeth's face, filled with a pain so deep and suffering not even time could help it. The grin, happy as it may seem on the surface, contorted her expression into one of pure pain, enough to echo through a thousand lifetimes and start a thousand wars. And she knew, as she watched her mother's carefully controlled mask crumble from the horror, that her mother had finally realized how deep her hatred ran, and how sure it led her feet. Annabeth knew, as maybe her mother did not, that the most stunningly beautiful souls could fade to a brittle, broken mask. That the kindest souls, always filled with a warm smile and a comforting grasp, could switch to a venomous, leeching cruelty. That even the brightest souls, innocent in their childlike wonder, could become corrupt and jaded, broken under the weight of the world. And her mother, her stupid, stupid mother, had finally wondered why she would be any different. Had finally realized that she had asked too much of her favorite pawn and broken her to pieces and crushed them to dust. That none of Athena's daughter lived in the figure that stood in front of her.

A sharp, crackling laugh slipped through her lips. A shimmering, deadly point pressed into perfect porcelain skin, puckering the flesh, if it could be called that, to the point of any movement casting the goddess away and spreading her essence to the pit. Annabeth wanted to watch her glittering, glimmering mother burn for all eternity, if that's what it took to keep her away.

"You don't even know me, _mother_ ," she spat the word, every unsaid curse bleeding into the phase. She was seven again, and her mother was gone, having left her with a monstrous woman and the father that never wanted her. She was twelve, and the boy she'd loved like a brother went and stabbed her in the heart. She was sixteen, watching the same boy lay still on a cold marble floor. She was all those people and none of them, some horribly twisted, warped version of who she'd been and who she could've been. She was beyond the point of caring, her bitterness filling her up and hollowing her out as she stared dead-eyed into the gaze of her mother, the woman that was supposed to care about her.

She searched her mother's gaze, spotting a strange light glowing deep within their depths, and she let out a bloodcurdling shriek, " _And I don't want your pity!_ "

Her leg was aching again and she could feel all of her scars, burning and aching as if they had been carved seconds ago. The sensation made her want to collapse on the spot, but her grin merely widened, pulled and twisted by the force of her anger, as her gaze fixed on some point in the distance and she pressed with all of her might.

She watched with a frozen disinterest as her mother released a startled gasp, distanced from the one from whom she came as a single drop of honeyed ichor gathered at the tip of her knife, aimed expertly at her mother's throat, before Morpheus slashed his ties and she found herself in the realm of the waking.

Percy offered no words and neither did she, only _love love love_ as the world shrunk around them, the power of it singing through her veins until nothing else existed but the smell of chocolate by the ocean and a burning, bleeding green.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

When they decided something had to be done, Annabeth wasn't sure. She wasn't even sure if they'd ever said it, ever offered a word aloud about what needed to be done, but there was no argument as their gazes locked and their minds met and everything came together. Something needed to be done. And so they left in the dead of night, when nothing living stirred, their whole beings thrumming with energy as they realized that finally, _finally_ , something was going to happen. Something was going to change. ( _Yes! Yes! Yes! The voices screeched, louder, louder, louder, YES! YES! YES!_ )

They knew, as they strapped weapons to themselves, as many as they could carry, that it was suicide. (The voices liked that ( _beautiful destruction_ (peace)).) They knew, as they packed the last of their ambrosia and nectar, that they may not return. And, if they were to consider it, they'd realize there was a part inside of them that relished it. The little part of them that could still feel felt nothing more than the never ending pull towards the other and the overwhelming, bone-crushing urge to end it all. To slowly let everything crumble to dust as it simply… Stopped.

But no, that couldn't happen. Annabeth felt it inside her as she raised her gaze to Percy's. They would not stop, could not stop, until each and every god had paid. The gods had sinned, and they were tired of being dolls (so fragile and breakable). For that's what everyone was, to the gods. Dolls, to be played with and cast aside once their usefulness had worn thin. They were left with no choice of their own until they were broken so far beyond recognition that the gods grew tired of them and cast them aside like the oversized children they were, already squabbling over their newest set of toys.

She'll admit that the lobby man took some… Persuading, but eventually, he saw reason.

At the bloody tip of her sword.

The elevator ride was long, painstakingly so, and the atrocious music that always punctuated the ride was blaring in the background, but Annabeth was deaf to it all. Percy's arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, grounding her to the reality of what they were about to do. He held her as if he might never hold her again, pressing her close and fiercely strong, but gentle as though he was clutching a cloud, as though she could vanish with a single breath. She held him back just as fierce, just as strong, gently brushing her lips against his. This could be the last time they embrace, and she would sure as Hades make it last. The instant the elevator doors hissed open, they'd have to be soldiers in a field of mines, but for now, for a few more moments, everything was alright, even as the shadows encroached on her mind.

It occurred to her that the voices were oddly silent, the screams that plagued her every thought having gone deathly still. It was almost as if they, too, were aware of what was about to happen, what they had helped drive her to do, and chosen to grant her these last few moments of peace before she met what would likely be her demise. It was as though she and Percy were at the eye of a storm. All of the shadows and fire and blood and death and nightmares and overwhelming _fear fear fear_ were gone. Stripped away. And nothing else mattered for a moment. For one blissful, heart-wrenching moment, nothing else mattered.

Then, the elevator doors hissed slowly apart, and the shadows fell again. The moment was shattered (like her heart (her mind (her soul))). The air was what hit her first ( _fire and acid and smoke and sulfur and blood-_ ). It was fresher than it should be, even at this height, with the poisonous city churning below. So fresh, so clean, so pure, it made her lungs ache. The sight of a glittering city nestled neatly on a mountaintop greeted her, tiny fires dotting its buildings and singing echoing from somewhere nearby. It was in an ancient tongue she could not understand, but the melody made her heart ache. (It was perfect for the moment (sad and deep, welling up from somewhere in the singer's soul (the part that was all Annabeth knew (where she could see the world as it really was (broken)))).)

Then suddenly, without a word of communication, she was running, every step in time with one of Percy's as they ran down the stone pathway. And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was conspicuous, but any immortals around were likely so immersed in themselves (they always were) that they wouldn't notice a pair of weak mortals traversing the home of the gods. So Annabeth's feet pounded the stone, winding gracefully through the city as though it was some quaint little town tucked away from society rather than the home of (bloody) immortals. Each step carried her closer, closer, closer to her goal, to the huge Grecian temple that stood tall and proud at the mountain's peak, until her legs froze and her feet stuck and she was staring at the throne room of the gods (far too beautiful for all that happened there (and all that would come)).

And it would be so easy, she knew, and it would feel so, so good, but still, she hesitated. A part of her knew that there would be no coming back from this. One step inside, and she would officially be admitting that Annabeth Chase, as the world knew her, was gone, and that she was never coming back. Nevertheless, she steeled herself, sucking in another breath of the too-sweet air flowing through the mountain, tinged with something sweet she could not place (she did not want to think of all the people the gods may have hurt to get it). She locked eyes with Percy, and together they marched inside.

The throne room of Olympus seemed deserted, save for a pair of immortals exchanging hushed words in the center of the room. Annabeth's vision tunneled, everything around her bleeding red as she let a bloodcurdling shriek ( _they used her they used her they used her (_ bleeding, sticky red ( _it wasn't coming off it wasn't coming off it wasn't coming off-_ ))). She drew her blade, carved from the bone of a thousand nightmares, and bounded towards the Olympians. Beside her, she sensed Percy doing the same, and faster than should have been possible, they had arrived at the immortals, foolishly still too immersed in their conversation to notice the pair of demigods converging on them. Annabeth grinned a sadist's grin. The sea god and the wisdom goddess, how ironic that they'd be here together.

Faster than the eye could trace, Annabeth's sword was arcing through the air, then it was biting into her mother's leg. The goddess collapsed next to the sea god, equally afflicted by his own son.

Athena's armor appeared on her immortal frame, her shield and sword magic in a wizard's hand. But even she was not prepared for the ferocity with which Annabeth fought. Like a serpent's tongue, her blade flickered in and out of the chinks in her mother's armor, and ichor was pooling on the floor. But so was blood (beautiful, despicable red), so much of it, and Annabeth wasn't quite sure how she was even still standing (or if she wanted to be).

Her mother wasn't aiming to kill.

Fool.

But she'd play the fool's game, as she lashed out with her sword. Her mother met her, strike for strike now, as Annabeth's mortal frame tired and her mother continued to pull her shots. Eventually, after what felt like hours of exchanging blows, her ivory blade fell with a clatter to the ground. She cackled, then, a twisted, broken sound betraying the horrors inside her, but still, she did not yield. She drew a knife she'd tucked away, and came at her mother again.

The battle was doomed. It had been from the start, and she'd known it. But it did not matter to her. She only wanted to make Athena bleed, to make the goddess suffer and watch it with her own eyes. She charged her mother (if she could even call her that (she did not deserve the title (she was no mother of hers ( _she used her she used her she_ used _her-_ )))).

Her attack was doomed, she never even reached the goddess. She found a pair of weathered hands grasping her arms from behind, and her mother plucked her knife from her hand, as though plucking a feather from the wind. But Annabeth did not care, for if the sea god's hands were holding her back, then that meant Percy, her beautiful Percy-

His form lay prone on the ground, and she felt bile rising in her throat until she detected the subtle rise and fall of his chest. He was alive. She could have jumped for joy. He was alive. (He would not leave her alone (at the mercy of the night (he was no Olympian (and her heart pounded with love, it was all she could still feel in the hollow pit that yawned inside her ( _Percy Percy Percy Percy Percy-_ )))).)

A hand clasped her eyes, but she could still feel the power that filled the room as the Olympians flashed in one by one. Even once the hands were removed, though, she remained blind. She could not hear, could not see anything but the gentle rise and fall of Percy's chest as he lay collapsed on the floor. He was alive. He was alive. He was alive.

But maybe that was worse.

The gods were debating their fates around them, but she ignored it, ignored the worried looks cast her way and the harsh notes in the immortals' voices. It wasn't until they reached their conclusion that she could bring herself to listen.

To her surprise, of all of the gods to defend them, Dionysus was the one to come forward in their defense. She did not catch what he said as her knees collapsed beneath her and her last glimpse was of a young girl tending a hearth whose flames had long extinguished as the darkness swirled around her until nothing else was left.

She had a sensation she was floating, then no sensation at all.


	3. The Song of Dancing Shadows

**Hola, another chapter. I have a perfectly valid excuse for not updating that I'm sure most of you don't care about. Regardless, here's another chapter, I hope you guys enjoy, and stay awesome.**

 **-ROC6**

Annabeth shot upright, as though yanked by some invisible cord. Bile was rising in her throat. Where was Percy? She needed Percy.

Tartarus was cackling in her ear ( _stop laughing at her_ (she did not want pity (someone help her (where was Percy?)))). She could hear them running behind her. They were coming for her, the _arai_ and the monsters and everyone they'd ever faced. They were _coming for her_. Where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy-

Her whole body burned like she'd just run a marathon, an ache in her muscles that wouldn't come out. (The ache in her bones was from something deeper, she knew, a brokenness that couldn't be cured.) Her whole body was dripping in pain. Each of her scars was burning, worse than when it was fresh. And her leg, _di immortales_ , her _leg_ , it made her want to _scream_ -

She could hear him laughing at her her. It wasn't going away. Why wasn't it going away? Where was Percy? _Where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy?_

She didn't notice the tears slipping from her eyes, pooling on her cheeks, traversing the skin like mourners to a funeral, she didn't notice her rushed panicked breaths, breathing in air as though she'd never taste it again. She didn't notice that she had curled up into fetal position, pulling her legs close to her as if the physical touch could make her problems disappear. She didn't notice the worried rapping on her door, or the unearthly moans rising from somewhere deep inside of her.

 _They were screaming and laughing and they were coming for her and they were chasing her they were going to keep coming_ after _her and she needed him and Percy had left her and they were coming for her they were getting closer she could hear them now and it_ hurt _so badly and where was Percy where was Percy she needed him she needed him she needed him-_

She couldn't stop the bile rising in her throat this time. She hardly noticed as the little that was in her stomach passed through her lips. She hardly noticed anything at all.

 _Where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy-_

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

She was suffocating under the weight of her prison. She was tired, so very tired of pretending. Pretending to be okay, pretending to care (pretending the gods still cared about her (and she them)). Pretending that today still mattered (and that tomorrow would come). Pretending she didn't want to wrench the flesh off of the next god she saw (it was all their fault (she was done being a slave (stupid and weak and useless (she was done)))). Pretending that every moment without Percy didn't make her feel as though her very heart was being wrenched from her body, leaving her a hollow husk of a ghost, so broken that it hurt to move, to think, to live without him next to her (no one understood).

She'd ripped her bandages off hours ago, useless things they were, ripped them off when they grew sticky and wet and black in the suffering of her prison. Let the world see what had happened, she bared her teeth in a feral grin (, or would have, if she had the energy), let them know what she'd become. Small raised lines scored her arms, beautiful with their even symmetry, like the drops of blood sinking from her eyes and the spiders crawling through her mind (like the gods that had forsaken her and the fragile life she lived). They rose up from her wrists like light from a lantern (and screams from the pit), the raised red ridges blanketing her arms like (all-too-familiar) sleeves.

Blood from inflicting the wounds was still caked under her nails.

She could still hear Arachne's voice crooning in her ear, still feel the silk crawling up her arms like water (like the tears that always flowed-) ( _getitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff-_ )

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

She had not seen Percy for three weeks (it felt like lifetimes to her shattered husk of a mind). Of those three weeks, she could only remember glimpses (though maybe that was best). Waking up to her arms bleeding softly, like soft breaths of a young child, or the tears of a demon (her arms a sticky scarlet reminiscent of a long-lost friend). Staring blankly at a wall for a moment, only to find six hours had passed (all in the span of one agonizing beat of her heart (why did it always feel like it was missing something? ( _Percy_ ))). Thinking about something mundane only to find herself trapped in a pit of red, the ever-present scent of sulfur intensifying as the screams grew louder, _louder_ , until they became all that she was and all that she would ever be.

Any signs of health she'd regained since the pit had faded (though she found it fitting, if she was honest, for it was clear her mind never had never healed). Her skin was returning to its unhealthy pallor, a color unnatural even for a corpse. Her cheeks were gaunt and hollow, sunken into her skull. Her eyes were as empty as the void of Chaos, her face as expressionless as the stone pressing against her on all sides, ever-smaller, ever-confining. She was certain she looked like the monsters she walked amongst, the ones that taunted her in the shadows.

She had not moved from the bed.

She had not spoken in three weeks (was it really only three?). They kept trying to talk to her, to comfort her. The one with blue eyes and black hair came often at first ("Work with me, Annabeth, I can't lose you, too."), but she had not seen her since the hallucinations began. The kindly man in the wheelchair sat by her bed every day. He would say things, she could see his lips moving, but not a sound reached her, for all she could hear was the ringing in her ears and the voices from her dreams, hissing and screeching and cracking her apart, crushing her spirit like the yolk from an egg (or trying to let blood from a stone, for that was all that was left (a dense core of hardened obsidian, black beyond night and without a speck of hope)).

Sometimes, in the middle of the night (but wasn't it always night?), when she woke up with crusted cheeks and swollen eyes and collapsed in on herself, smaller, smaller, ghostly moans and terrorized screams rising from the yawning chasm inside her, where darkness reigned and nothing thought, another would comfort her (warm arms and a shoulder to cry on, but they weren't _his_ arms, wasn't _his_ shoulder (he promised he would never leave (so why wasn't he here?))). Violent, vibrant, violet eyes and the soft tartness of fermenting grapes. A tired gaze and a warm hand on her forehead, pulling her straw-like hair aside. A whispered hymn in an ancient tongue long forgotten (and somehow her skin didn't crawl at the sound). The feeling of warmth spreads, and the ever-present sensation of falling, of hands crawling up her back, of the breath of a monster on her spine, fades to one of floating.

A whispered warning not to tell (as if she could speak), and sleep claims her like a long forgotten friend, enveloping her in its gentle embrace. She does not think until she wakes.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

It occurred to her that this wasn't working (but the world was a broken place where nothing ever worked, so why should this be any different?). Nothing was changing and no one was helping her and there was nothing to be done as every night her future plagued her and every day her demons breathed (their breath was warm and hot and sticky like liquid blood (it was almost comforting to her)). They appeared in the corners of her room, at the edge of her vision (and the corner of her eye). Under her bed and in her bathroom. The followed in her shadow and kissed her goodnight with a lover's touch and a promise of a tomorrow she never wanted to come (and every night she prayed to him (the ruler of the pit) that he'd come and spirit her away into the long, dark night (but only for Percy did her heart keep beating, despite being dead as the corpse she looked to be (she wished to have Percy with her, wished she could run from it all (but there's no running from one's own mind, and she thinks that fact is worst of all)))). She had tried to scare them off, brandished a post from her bed as though it could save her from the creations of her own mind, but she quickly learned that while she could not hurt them, they could hurt her. So she accepted their existence, danced with them in the night (a dance that was slow and sad and wholly her own, moving to the sluggish beat of her heart). There was nothing else for her to do.

It had been five weeks since she'd last seen Percy (five more than she could handle), collapsed on the floor of that cursed hall, so close to the cusp of death that one wrong move could send him over. (She'd carved notches on the wall (behind the headboard where they couldn't see).)

They were waiting for a change, she knew they were. Every day they came in with hopeful eyes and everyday they left, a little more like her, a little less blind (Why could they still not see? How could it ever be more clear?). They were desperate to force her back into slavedom and turmoil, to drag her back into a world she had no need for and to have her do the bidding of beings she despised (was golden blood as sticky as scarlet? she wondered). They wanted her to be who she was before, broken and fragile, blind and faithful. Did they not realize that she was stronger now? They had shot her through the heart, the mind, the soul, but she had returned, stronger than ever, freer than ever. She was free from the life of servitude that she had been born into, free from the touch of gods and left to the mercy of demons (where she belonged (she had long since become one (she could still hear the broken sobbing, she wondered where it came from (who was that girl banging on a glass prison with raw knuckles and bloodied mind? (desperate to escape (to be free (desperate to stop))) Who was that girl who looked so much like her?)))).

They did not realize that she could not be that person anymore, the one that followed and obeyed, the one that sat down when she needed to stand, the one that was silenced when she wanted to scream (but she was always screaming, and she was always silenced, that was the way it had always been). She was bent and broken, but she was no longer blind (the voices were chorusing their agreement). She was no longer a doll to be cast aside when her usefulness had run itself through, no longer a toy doomed to have her heart pierced over and over and over again, no longer a puppet, dancing on strings whenever her masters commanded (she now had her own dance, one slow and soft and panicked (her footsteps like a wolf's, her movements deadly as a panther's)). She could see what they didn't, hear what they couldn't.

It had been five weeks since she'd last seen Percy (he wouldn't leave her (never again (she needed him (where was he?)))).

She realized if they wouldn't let her leave, then she'd have to convince them she was fine (she never was (never would be (had to be (she needed Percy)))). She needed them to let her see Percy. Needed to run her fingers through his hair and bury her face in his chest. Needed to press her lips against him and tell him she loved him. Needed to promise him she'd never leave again (and neither would he).

It had been five weeks since she'd last seen Percy (she would not let it be five more).

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

There was a creaking sound reminiscent of that of the rope she grasped every day, rough and corded and digging into her bleeding hands as she struggled to hold on, as the door to her prison crept open. Like every other day since she'd last seen Percy (five weeks two days thirteen hours and forty-two minutes), there was a screeching sound, scratching her ears like the glass in her heart as steel wheels slid across the floor until the kindly, brown-eyed man sat next to her bed.

She did not care (though maybe she should have), for she was watching the shadows on the wall. They were dancing for her in the dim light of her cell, beckoning for her to join them. They were singing a haunting song she couldn't place, but it blended well with the chaos inside her as they pleaded with her to join them. They _needed_ her to join them. She could almost envision herself joining in the swooping dance, laughing as she pulled Percy closer, closer, closer-

A single tear slipped down her cheek, tracing its way down her stiff features, not that she noticed.

"How are you today, Annabeth?" he was talking to her as he did every day, and like every day, his voice was already starting to fade into the background. (Why listen to him when her demons had such interesting things to say?)

But no. She wouldn't fade away again. She couldn't fade away again, not the wisp of a person she was, the soul somehow not crossed to the Underworld that should have entered long ago. She could not let herself be distracted by her demons any longer, no, Annabeth could not let her mind fade into the static of the voices of her nightmares, no matter how much easier it was. She needed Percy, so Annabeth had to move. To act as though she was living even though she had long since died. To seem as though she still had a spark of life inside her (she did (in her heart (it was small (and it faded every day (but still, etched onto its surface, was Percy (she needed him ( _PercyPercyPercyPercyPercy_ ))))))). They must believe her if she was ever to see Percy again (she needed to, or there'd be no her for him to return to (but she'd promised him she'd never leave, same as he promised her (she was afraid if nothing changed she'd break that promise soon (her steps were growing more unstable, like the fractures in her mind (he was all she was living for))))).

So Annabeth pulled herself together, at least, as much as she could. Annabeth gathered up the pieces of herself and the little strength she had. She could not watch her demons anymore.

But the demons were beautiful, a part of her said. There was a tragic beauty in their tragic lives, the vanity of it all as they attempted to live and thrive in a world that would only shoot them down again. There was a beauty in their fall from grace and their eyes shone when they looked upon the world, bathed in their tears of their sorrows. There was a beauty in how their fall had built them into something new, colder and harsher and braver and stronger than they'd been before (she wasn't talking about her demons anymore.)

It was hard, like bearing the weight of the world, but Annabeth turned her head. She was facing him, now, as he spoke, and though he didn't say a word, she could see it in his eyes. Hope. If she wasn't so bitterly exhausted, she'd have laughed. He still thought she could be brought back. He still wished for the seven-year-old crying on Half-Blood Hill.

She wondered how long it would take him to realize that girl was never coming back.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

It became normal for Annabeth to turn her head whenever her old mentor came in, and every day she attempted to make herself a little more responsive to his actions, until Annabeth would smile (emptily) and nod (brokenly) at his dialogue. She still found herself tuning out for hours at a time, she still saw the monsters under her bed, at the edges of her vision, but all that mattered was that they thought she was improving, because if they thought she was improving, then she would see Percy (seven weeks six days eight hours twenty minutes).

All she wanted was to see Percy again (her heart beat weakly with her love).

She still had not uttered a word (Why would she need to? She was a broken, useless toy (she had no words worth saying ( _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_ ))). They coaxed her every day, tried to convince her to say something, but she had not a single thing worth saying to them. That was, except for a singular phrase, but she could not assert her will, lest they grow suspicious, and she lacked the energy to build up their faith again, listening to their hollow words.

She did not care for their poisoned lies, their worried gazes or their hopeful cries. She only wanted Percy, wanted to be gone from her prison, for what else was there to do? She had been free, wholly and truly free for the first time in her life, and they had taken it from her. They had taken her freedom from her, attempting to force her back into the blasted servitude of her childhood, but she was not so innocent anymore. She wasn't going to be a servant anymore. She wanted her freedom, nothing more. She wasn't going to serve anyone anymore.

The voices were chorusing in agreement, she could feel the bass of their blended voices pounding into her skull. She wasn't going to serve anyone ever again, not if she could help it. The only one she cared for was Percy. (He was all she was living for.) She wasn't going to serve the wretched gods again, no she was never going to serve the wretched gods again.

The demons, too, that hung at the edges of her vision, joined in her turmoil. One rubbed a clawed hand soothingly on her back. Another one wrapped its arm around her shoulder. A third looked at her with a worried gaze and a question in its eyes, and expression so _Percy_ it made her heart ache. She was a girl forged from broken pieces but she would never serve again. All she wanted was Percy. She needed Percy.

The darkness was encroaching on her and the monsters were chasing her and her vision was slowly fading to red as the stench of sulfur intensified and dear gods where Percy? She needed him. He'd promised he was never leaving her ever again, so where was he? Why did it all hurt so much? It hurt _so much_ not to be able to find him, like someone had grabbed the ashes of her heart and wrenched them from her body, holding them out of her grasp, because she needed him. Where was he?  
 _Where was he where was he where was he?_

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

Annabeth turned her head dutifully when her former mentor entered the room. Annabeth smiled and nodded, pretended as though she was healing (she would never heal (how could she (she was missing too many pieces))). Annabeth still never spoke, there was nothing for her to say. But Annabeth still looked interested, feigned attentiveness and kept her lip from curling up whenever the gods were mentioned.

And she was banging on the walls of her prison because all she wanted to was to be let out, all she wanted was to see Percy. She had not seen him in so long and she needed him to survive and it physically ached not to have him with her so why wasn't he there? Why could they not see that every day without him she fell a little more to pieces, pieces she could not afford to lose? Why weren't they helping her? Why were they condemning her to a torture so painful that it made her dreams feel like sanctuaries? Why why why?

When they spoke, Annabeth listened. Annabeth provided the proper response. Annabeth kept her from screaming and crying and punching and hurting everyone if these beings that had hurt her so deeply. Annabeth kept her under control.

(and she hated her for it.) All she wanted was freedom, was that too much to ask? But in order to receive her freedom, she had to lock herself in another prison, one that lived and walked and talked, and all she wanted was to see Percy, was that too heavy of a prize that she'd have to lose what was left of her soul to do it?

But Annabeth was patient. Annabeth waited. She needed one specific question to be asked. If she was too pushy, they'd hesitate and tell her no. If she was too hesitant, they'd figure it wasn't important and wouldn't let her see him. No, she needed to wait until the right time, and that was Annabeth's job. Annabeth would act as though she cared, Annabeth would act as though she was healing.

But Annabeth trapped her deep inside herself in a venomous pit of rage that was slowly poisoning her from the inside out, for what else was she to do with herself when Annabeth was in control? She could not express herself, could not dance with her demons and sing to the shadows on her walls. When Annabeth was in control, she could not whisper promises to the blackness of the night and kiss every one of the stars into their eternal sleep.

Today was special, though, today they asked the sacred question, the one thing she'd been waiting to hear. It was said in passing, as though a response wasn't expected (it wasn't, she still had not spoken (but what need had she for speech when she had nothing to say to them? (they did not deserve her attention (wretched, torturing monsters they were)))), but it was uttered nonetheless.

"Is there anything you want?"  
And the ashes of her heart were spinning and twirling and celebrating as only a heart could, for she uttered the single phrase she'd waited so long to say, her voice croaky and dry from disuse and warbling like a child's, "I want to see Percy."

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

Of course, it couldn't be that easy. But this was her life, and nothing was _ever_ easy (though she desperately wished it was (wished she could slip away in the darkness of the night (and hide until it all faded, all but her and Percy (it would be so _easy_ )))). They (the fools) were very helpful, assuring her she could see Percy soon, but only if she, did this, or only if she did that, but she wanted _none of it_. She was chafing against the restraints enforced upon her and she could not control herself and all she wanted was her freedom. If she had to wrench them limb from limb to earn it, then so be it. She just wanted to be free with her Percy.

Bu Annabeth smiled, and Annabeth nodded, and they never guessed at the turmoil roiling inside her head, at the ugly monster waiting to pounce. Her mind was weak as it was, she did not want another master to chain her to the ground after she'd tasted what it was like to be free. But that was what Annabeth was for. Annabeth was there to make them believe, to convince them that she was getting better, that someday all the troubles would fade away (but they wouldn't (couldn't (they were too much a part of her))).

But Annabeth didn't exist. Not in the sense they thought Annabeth did. No, she had created Annabeth, modeled Annabeth after a broken toy from long ago. Annabeth was nothing but a front, a hoax, a means to an end that she hated more and more every day. She was in control, she was the one they should talk to, the one they should fear, but all they saw was Annabeth, and while that was for the best if her plans were to come true, she hated it with every fiber of her being. She was trading one master for another, and she would not stand for it.

So she was biding her time and dancing with her demons. (They still visited every day.) She would greet the pit as he grew near and talk to the shadows on the walls when no one was around. She could wait, she could be patient, for all she needed was Percy, and she could be free. Free from the prison that threatened to crush her (and the gods that sought to control her).

Only another week longer, then she could see Percy (and she would finally be free).

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

They told her it was today. That today was the day she could finally see her Percy, could finally see the boy that led her from the dark into the pits of fire. Today she could see him and promise him and tell him everything she could, everything that had happened while they had been apart. The beasts still danced in her vision, glimpses of another realm. The voices still chattered in her head (she'd discovered they were quite amiable, if she was nice). A green eyed form still hovered at the edge of her sight, always too far for her to touch, a wisp of something that had been. The gray-eyed girl still screamed in her glass prison.

But today was the day, she would see Percy. She only had to be Annabeth for a little while longer.

And they tried to warn her. The stupid, ignorant, doggedly stubborn fools tried to warn her. They tried to tell her of Percy, of the name etched into every beat of her heart, tried to convince her that he wasn't well (but she wasn't well, so what did it matter (they'd be together and they'd be free (beautiful in their joint destruction until they both faded away))). They told her not to get her hopes up (How could she not?), they told her that he was likely never going to be the same (she didn't want him to be the same (she wanted him to be _him_ (wild and goofy and a whirlwind of destruction (always changing, always evolving (always something new (and not afraid of the darkness that had blossomed inside of her)))))).

Eventually, the fools realized she had stopped listening (because they had nothing of worth to say). (It was strange, she realized, she had not seen the violet-eyed being over the last few weeks. She wondered where he had gone.) Sighing and twisting their heads, they led her out of her prison (every fiber of her being was screaming for her to run, that this was her chance to be free and she may never get another, but she restrained herself. Not without Percy).

They led her a few doors down from her prison, and the voices chattered excitedly (Had he really been so close all this time?). Then they were talking to her again, warning her as she reached for the door, but she did not care, did not listen, for there was no need for Annabeth to put up a front any longer. No need for her to pretend that she was healing (she would never heal (some wounds never did (she couldn't pick up the shards of her mind and glue them back together (and all the king's horses and all the king's men-(she couldn't piece herself together again))))).

They were still warning her as she grasped the knob of the door in her too-thin hands, sallow and pale and _weak_ (the word tasted bitter in her mind (she savored the bitterness, the burn of the truth (for though she was stronger than she'd been before, she was still weak (and always would be without him)))). She twisted, and the door slid open with a hiss (like a dragon's tongue flickering through its teeth).

Then the door was open and she was falling, falling, falling into the pit that yawned before her, black as the depths of her soul.


	4. The Stars of Hopes and Dreams

**Alright, here I am with the fourth and final part of this story, and you guys will all probably hate me for it. In other notes, do you guys have any requests for one-shots or anything? Because while I have an idea for a longer story, I want to hash it out more before I start even writing it, nevermind posting it. I don't want to leave you guys too contentless, though, so any requests are welcome at the moment, though I can't guarantee whether I will actually write them or not. That being said, I hope you guys enjoy, and stay awesome.**

 **-ROC6**

A pair of arms were wrapped around her, warm and strong and _alive_. It was a strange sensation, this feeling of being around something living, she had not experienced in so long that she'd nearly forgotten what it felt like. Then there were his eyes, she was enraptured by their swirling depths (Had they always been this beautiful?) and the shadows trapped within. One moment, they were a clear, flawless green and the next a pool of toxic sludge so dark she thought it never ended. It was enchanting.

She blinked at him, at the boy before her. She has to ascertain he was real. But there were no monsters at the edge of her vision, only the shadows in the room. She stared a moment longer, then she reached out, tentatively, her hand reaching for a lifeline she wasn't sure she'd find. Her fingertips grazed the warmth of his skin, traced the steel of his jaw. Her fingertips glowed from the touch.

He was here. He was real. Her seaweed brain. (He was so much more than that.)

"Percy," the sound was soft, barely a breath as it escaped her lips. She was still entranced by him.

He grinned lopsidedly, and she could see the pain in his eyes, the brokenness in his gaze, but when he gazed at her, all she saw was the tenderness he felt towards her, the joyful glint in his gaze, "Annabeth."

And somehow, when he said it, it didn't feel like a prison anymore. Strangely enough, it felt like a gift. When he said it, the name didn't make her heart shatter at the thought of thousands of days of an invisible prison, of a thousand eternities in the darkness. When he said it, she no longer felt trapped inside a cage of glass, a prison all the more terrible because she could see out and never interact.

She leaned close to him, enjoying the warmth of his body and the comfort of his presence. She'd been so cold for so long that the warmth was a completely foreign feeling to her, one she'd forgotten how to feel. She could tell he had, too. His face was as gaunt as her's, his skin as pale as a corpse. His bones were weak, his skin seemed brittle. He'd had it rough, as well.

She wondered what the demons said to him.

No words came pouring out between them, no long, tear-filled conversation, but they were warriors, survivors. They needed no words. His struggle was etched into his every movement. The slump of his shoulders, the curve of his back, the curling and uncurling of his fingers into fists.

She reached for him with a careful tenderness, tangling her fingers in his matted hair, gently leading his face close to hers. They were close enough they could share a breath, their lips almost touching, but still with a yawning gap between them.

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, the words barely loud enough to hear, "You are never getting away from me ever again."

He smiled, and pressed his lips gently against her, "I love you."

She grinned, a twisted broken thing, for the first time in months, and proceeded to show him just how much she loved him.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

The light had long faded into darkness by the time she spoke again. She had Percy, and he had her, yet they still were waiting in the dark. A cage had been erected around them, and they still were locked in shadows. They were together, and for now, that was enough, but she'd answer to her masters no more. She could feel the monsters hiding in the dark, lurking beyond her vision. She just able to make out the outline of Percy beside her in the dim light glinting through the window.

They wanted her to walk into the dark, they wanted her to leave, but as Percy stirred beside her, she shook her head almost imperceptibly. No, not yet. She could not leave him yet. She would serve no master but she would not leave him yet.

She stared out into the dark and breathed, taking in the air around her. She was trapped, but she would not leave, not yet.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

Her lucidity was fading, and she couldn't decide if it scared her.

"Percy," she shook his shoulder insistently, "We have to go. It's time to go."

He blinked at her, slowly, sleepily, mumbling something incoherent.

She shook her head, "No, Percy, we need to go."

He murmured something again, this time discernable, "Why?"

She froze. She could see the white gales of frost spreading over the surface of her skin, feel the cold breath of Phobos on the back of her neck. There was a strange fragility to her voice, though she was not sure she was speaking. _When had she become so small?_ She idly wondered. _Had this room always been so big? So cold and dark and empty and terrifying-_ (The voices seemed thrilled, they were hissing and fighting and spitting in anticipation (but in anticipation of what?))

"Because, Percy," her voice was cracking, "Because I can't stay."

"Wh' not?"

He didn't understand, no one did, "Because I can't be a pawn anymore."

He was slowly blinking the sleep from his gaze, "You're not a pawn."

Was the world shaking or was she? "Can't you see? I've always been a pawn, and if we stay here, I always will be."

"Annabeth-"

"Don't call me that!" He flinched, "I can't do it anymore, Percy. I can't give myself over to be just another expendable toy anymore. They don't care for us, they never have, and all I want is _out_!"

His brow was knit, and he was following her with a concerned gaze, "Wise Girl."

Her heart was fluttering in her chest, beating against the walls of its cage, "Percy, I'm sorry, but if we stay, the gods are only going to use us again. We'll never be free."

She could tell he was thinking about what she'd said when he called her over from her mad pacing, his arms held out, "C'mere, Wise Girl."

She slid under the covers of the bed while he held her in his arms, warm and comforting and alive. It was all she wanted.

He sounded distant, "The gods will never let us be free."

She shook her head.

"We'd be stuck as pawns for the rest of our lives," he seemed to realize what she had, remembered a blue eyed friend they'd once had, and he seemed to decide, "We can't stay here."

She offered a bitter smile, seeing the anger hardening in his eyes, an expression he wore all too often nowadays, "We'll leave soon, Percy."

He held her tighter in his arms, and she relished the warmth spreading throughout her, replacing the voided cold she usually felt, and watched as the sun broke the horizon, streaking it a thousand colors of hope, "But not tonight."

She could see, reflected in the deep blues and angry reds, that maybe there was a place for them out there, after all. As long as she had Percy.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

In three days time, she'd be free. She could feel the walls closing in on her, hear the incessant, echoing screams that filled the room day and night that no one else but Percy seemed to hear, and her blood boiled at the very thought of staying in the room a moment longer (she would not be pawn again). But she could not leave before then. They had not yet swiped enough supplies or built up enough trust that they were no longer guarded at night. The others still thought them dangerous ( _a danger to who?_ (they had only attacked the gods (none of their pawns had done any more wrong than to be born))), and perhaps rightfully so, but they would not hurt the others. All they wanted was to be free.

And every night she had Percy beside her, and every night shadows beckoned from the wall, urging her to follow. But Percy held her back, and she held him back, for they would not leave each other no matter how desperately they wanted to be free. But still, she felt her prison closing in on her, and she could not wait much longer to be free.

 **-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-**

The day had come for freedom. Her hand was clenched in Percy's and she felt lifetimes stronger with him by her side. All they needed now was to escape the wretched camp, and they'd be free. She was starting to see a future again, and she knew he was, too. They simply needed to escape the camp, and they'd be free of all that held them. The voices would remain, the shadows and the demons and the overwhelming stench of sulfur would remain, but with time, with hope, maybe they would fade.

It was a strange sensation, too, this feeling of hope, for she had not had any for such a long time that she could not remember when she last felt it. And yet, she could feel the warm glow inside her, slowly filling the void within her that had been opened by the Pit. It filled her with its warm glow, its gentle light, and for the first time in a long while, she could imagine they had a future. She could imagine they had a chance,

If only they could escape from these wretched gods.

She'd slowly stockpiled splinters of wood, leading up to the night of their escape, which she now clasped in her hands. Percy kept watch as she fed them into the knob of the door until she heard the soft _click_ of the latch coming undone.

She glanced at him, reading him. His shoulders still slumped, the skin around his eyes was still dark and sagging, his skin still deathly pale. But she could see it in him, too, a hint of his old light returning, the glow that had drawn her to him in the first place. Somewhere, somehow, he had found hope. It was strange and elusive, but together, they'd found hope. All they needed was each other (and their freedom), but they were starting to hope for tomorrow.

He flashed her a grin, a hint of its old shine returning in a fashion that made her heart leap with joy and would have brought a tear to her eye had they not been in the midst of escaping as if to say _Are you ready, Wise Girl?_

She flashed him half a smile, a thousand words in a single expression. _Yes._

Gently, he pressed the door, and it slid open with a soft _creak_. Trying their best to be stealthy, they slipped down the hallways, pausing briefly in the rec room to grab her sword when she saw it laid on the table, almost as if placed there in mourning. She asked Percy if he could summon his blade, and grinning cheekily, he tore open the seams on his pockets (he refused clothes without any), and began idly, aggravatingly spinning his pen between his fingers. She sighed lightly in exasperation, but they continued their march outside.

It was the dead of night, but their eyes were used to the dim lighting. The harpies patrolled overhead, but they'd long since become creatures of darkness, so the harpies paid them no heed. They had to pass the cabins and make their way to the beach. From there, they'd be free. She began to wonder, for the first time in a long time, what they'd do then. And again, for the first time in a long time, she began to plan. She began running through possibilities and contingencies and everything else that could happen until she felt Percy's hand on her shoulder, grounding her, pulling her back to the here and now. She blinked, staring into the green of his eyes, and a soft smile broke onto her lips. He gave her a goofy grin, but they had no time to waste and continued to slip through the field towards the cabins, where they'd have to be stealthier, but would at least have something besides open space that they could hide near.

Strangely, as they approached the cabins they heard voices. Soft murmurings of young campers that had crept out in the night. Three of them had snuck out and gathered in the central green, a stupidly conspicuous location, and they were having some form of hushed argument glancing periodically up at the sky for the harpies. She grinned, softly, remembering a different trio sneaking out in the dead of night, wishing her life was as simple now as it was then. She shook her head softly, a few curls bouncing, as though to shake the memories from her mind. She needed to focus.

Turning to Percy, she held a finger to her lips, then slowly counted down with her fingers, three- two- one-

They took off at what was meant to be a stealthy sprint, though Percy, the Seaweed Brain, had always been less than stealthy. They ran until they were safely behind one of the nearby cabins, out of sight of the campers, hoping that their run along the edge of the green was enough to keep the campers from particularly caring about them, especially since some the newer cabins should have blocked them from view.

They paused to listen to the conversation.

"-id you hear that?" one camper shushed the others.

"No," the speaker sounded indignant, "And I don't see why-"

"Shush!" the first one whispered loudly, leading to an indignant grunt from the second.

The third sounded thoughtful, "I thought I saw something, running behind Dionysus' cabin."

"Maybe we should check it out?" the first one asked.

The third one considered it, "Probably."

There was a soft _shlink_ as the three demigods slid their weapons free from their sheaths.

Percy glanced at her and she sighed mentally. Trust a demigod to always have their weapons on them. He began to finger his pen idly again, and she shifted into a ready stance, her hand on the hilt of her drakon-bone blade, listening to the sounds of the three campers as they approached. Though she had to admit, the three were loud enough that it amazed her they hadn't been caught by the harpies yet.

She glanced at Percy, who was listening to the demigods approach with as much trepidation as she, meeting his eyes for a silent debate. He nodded his head at the next cabin over, but she shook her head. The demigods would see them run. They pressed against the back wall of the cabin, knowing that the action would do little to actually disguise them, though they still felt better by the action of actually doing something, rather than waiting for fate to take its course.

The three young demigods hindering their escape were clearly trying to be stealthy, but just as clearly failing miserably at it, a fact only emphasized by a resounding _thud_ and the indignant grunt and whispered scoldings that followed it as one the demigods seemingly tripped. She held in a snort as Percy was silently chuckling. The three demigods were walking along the side of the cabin when she nudged him, shooting him a glare. He stopped chuckling.

"Hello?" the lead demigod called hesitantly, a young girl with tawny hair and baby blue eyes reminiscent of cabin eleven, "Is anyone there?"  
She held her sword out in front of her with a two handed grip as her friends approached, turning slowly until the glow of the celestial bronze landed on the two teenage demigods crouching in the shadows. The girl's eyes widened in fear, and her mouth dropped open as though she was about to shout. Her two friends held up their weapons, a knife and a spear, with shaky arms, but waited for their leader to make a move.

"No, don't shout," Annabeth reached out with a hand, "We're not going to-"

Seeing her hand, the girl's eyes widened even more, if that was possible, and she blindly swung her blade. Annabeth only just managed to retract her hand in time to keep it, earning herself a scarlet slash across its back.

Next to her, Percy's gaze hardened, and he flipped the cap off of his sword, a glowing bronze blade materializing in his grip. The leader, she had to admire the girl's bravado, held her blade up stubbornly, despite the fear flashing in her eyes. One of her friends, unfortunately, did not share the same silent determination, letting out a sharp, piercing shriek that sliced the deathly silence of the night like butter.

"Percy," she grabbed his shoulder, eyes flickering nervously towards the cabins, "Percy, we have to go. Now."

His gaze, distant and cold, was still locked on the demigod in front of him, but after a moment, he nodded. He turned and began running, his blade still white-knuckled in his hand. She turned and followed, casting one last glance at the three demigods that had found them, painfully aware of the murmurs of the camp as it began to wake up to the perceived threat.

"Percy," she ran after him, "Percy, be careful, put that blade away."

He turned, a lopsided grin just beginning to grace his features, and she felt as though time slowed down. Right as he turned, a young demigod appeared from behind the Apollo cabin, and, seeing the demigod barreling at him with his blade out, the demigod drew his own blade in return. Percy's eyes met hers, and she saw unbridled affection and the first hint of true joy she'd seen from him since they fell into the darkness. The Apollo camper had his sword drawn and despite his shaking knees, he held the blade steady in front of him. Percy's mouth had just begun to curl into the words he had turned to say when it happened. One second he was whole and as healthy as could be expected, the next there was a blade protruding from his midsection.

The Apollo camper dropped the blade instantly, collapsing to his knees as he began to wail for his cabin's counselor, but the deed was done. Already, a scarlet stain had crept up Percy's shirt, and his face was ashen. When the demigod released the blade, he fell to the ground like a stone.

She felt her legs lurch beneath her as she collapsed to the ground beside him, her breaths coming in quick, short bursts that contrasted sharply with the lagging of his breaths.

A sharp, rapid sob escaped her as she knelt over him, some of her curls draped over her shoulder like a comforting hand, "Percy. Percy, don't leave me."

He smiled at her, and she felt a few tears slip down her cheek and trace the line of her jaw, "Percy, no. I need you, Seaweed Brain. You can't leave me, not yet."  
He blinked slowly at her, and she sniffled, "Percy, we had our whole lives ahead of us. I love you, I need you."

He reached a hand up to her cheek, and she grabbed his other hand, "Annabeth, Wise Girl, I'll always be there for you. Don't waste it."

She said nothing, and he smiled sadly, as though he expected nothing more. Weakly, he nudged her head towards his, and she obliged, positioning herself around the blade still protruding from his stomach as she leaned in for one last kiss. She poured everything into it, every hope she'd had, every dream she'd dared to dream (she hadn't realized she had so many) and she kissed them all goodbye. She felt his heart rate slowing, felt his grasp grow weaker and his breath grow shallower until she was left with nothing but his limp form and the taste of the ocean on her lips as the ashes of her world smoldered around her.

She lowered him gently and ran her fingers through his hair one last time as his warmth faded. She gazed for a moment at the dull green his eyes had been reduced to, before gently closing them. Her eyes rested on the blade in his stomach.

"Annabeth," a sunny-haired boy approached her, his hands held out like he was taming a wild animal, he was seemingly choosing his words carefully, "I know it hurts, but you can survive this. You _will_ survive this."  
She laughed, sharply, and she realized that she, like everyone else there, was likely in shock of what just happened. She shook her head slowly, bringing her gaze up to the boy's, "But can't you see, Will? I don't _want_ to survive without him."

He was trying to keep the concern off of his face, to hide the slight narrowing of his eyes, the slight furrowing of his brow, but she saw them, and somewhere inside her, a monster was raging, chomping, screaming to be freed. She could see it on his face. The pity, the sympathy. _She did not want it_.

"I know you don't want to, I know it feels like your whole world has been pulled out from under you, I know what it's like to see your love lying dead with a blade through his stomach-" Will was silent for a moment, "But you can survive. If you can't live with him, live for him. He wanted you to survive."

"There's no point in surviving if I will never be alive."  
Whatever barrier he'd put up between his emotions and his expression snapped, and she felt a shriek building up inside her as his face melted into a puddle of concern, his voice too sugary sweet, "It's alright to feel as though the world has ended. But we're here, we can help. Please don't do something you'll regret."

"You cannot help me," she didn't notice her ragged breathing as she spoke what they both knew, but she finally loosed the scream inside her, and with a shout, all her demons broke loose from the fragile bindings she'd so carefully built for them, "And I don't need your pity."

Faster than the eye could follow, she was on her feet, her word held expertly in her hand as she began to cleave through the crowd of campers. They were demigods, they never went anywhere without their weapons, but she had the element of surprise, years of training and major involvement in two wars under her belt. She was the camp's best tactician, and she knew that if she was quick and clean with her strikes, then she could rest in peace.

Her sword was born from nightmares, and to nightmares it would return as she slashed through the campers. She didn't aim to kill, but she didn't particularly care if she did as she strived to reach the one camper that she had to kill, the weepy eyed boy with the wobbly knees and the deadly sword. She did not care if her adversaries fell to the might of her blade, for somewhere deep inside the hollow husk she'd become, devoid of emotion, of light, of hope, there was a voice, clear and true, that asked if death was not kinder. For death would welcome them with open arms and a warm hug. Death promised a painless future, while life, life was far crueler. Life promised suffering and sorrow and hope, and she now knew that hope was the most painful of them all.

A beady-eyed daughter of Ares approached her, but even the child of War was hesitant to kill her longtime ally, and in her failure to strike the dead-eyed demigod down, she slipped past the other girl's defenses, and moved to the next camper without a second thought, moving ever closer to her goal, to the camper that killed her Percy. Her blade, with its white blade dripping in black, seemed to be the very shadow of darkness as it cut contrast through the night. And at last, at last, she was upon the boy, who lay curled up on the ground. His muddy blond hair hung in tangles around his skull, and his trembling arms clasped his legs to his chest. He didn't seem to notice her approach. She could see, without trying, that this boy had never killed another human before, and her blade, which moments before had been sure and steady, wavered as she held it over the blue-eyed camper that was nothing more than a boy.

She was frozen, for a moment, her sword's descent frozen in its deadly arc, before she thrust her sword downward, hard and fast. The boy only looked up as it impaled the ground beside him.

But she was done, she knew, as the boy gazed at her in confusion, her moment of hesitation had been enough. The campers were afraid of her and would treat her as a threat. She was not surprised to hear the meaty thunk of an arrow entering her chest. Nor was she surprised when the tip, just missing her heart, appeared beneath her gaze. For a moment, all was silent, frozen in a deadly play, and she lifted her eyes to the sky, to the stars, her lips silently moving in a whispered hello, before some immortal being unpaused the universe and agony exploded in her chest.

She fell to the ground with a cry, her body, which just moments before had been strong, powerful, crumpled in on itself like a paper crane in an angry fist. But she was at peace, in that moment, with her fate. She'd known for awhile that death didn't scare her anymore, not if most of the people she loved had already departed before her. Her breath came in short, raspy gulps, growing shallower by the moment, and while most of the crowd stepped back, a few campers came forward and sat by her side as she died. The daughter of Ares, in a rare show of tenderness, clasped her cooling hand gently in calloused palms. Her brother, his blonde hair rattier than she'd ever seen it and his eyes red from lack of sleep, took her other hand and promised to tell her dad, and he told her how proud her mother would be.

Not for more than a moment did she focus on either of them, though, as the metallic taste of the blood slowly filling her lungs crept up her throat. She could not focus on who she was leaving behind, for, in front of her, she could see him. Her Percy. She could see him as he beckoned her forwards, the lopsided grin she so loved gracing his features. She sat up. Briefly, Annabeth looked at the people comforting her, their eyes downcast and their shoulders hunched, but still, she stood, leaving them behind. This was not her place anymore. She took a step, then two. Her body lay behind her, broken and pale, unmistakably covered in blood with a void in her chest where her heart should have been. The first sobs were loosed as her heart finally stilled. Annabeth turned away, the only way for her was forward, now.

She felt stronger, now, the strongest she had since Tartarus, and it was like a haze had been lifted from her mind. All of her scars were gone, as were the shadows in her eyes. She strode confidently into the night, and she grasped Percy in her arms where he was waiting for her. He buried his head in her hair as she buried her face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of saltwater and chocolate chip cookies. After a moment, she pulled back, a smile gracing her lips as he grinned at her. No words were exchanged, as no words were needed, but they grasped each other's hands, pausing briefly to gaze at the sky. The night was beautiful and clear, the sky vast and bright, its dark landscape a canvas splattered with a thousand dazzling lights.

And with Percy's hand in hers and an overwhelming, relieving sense of peace, together, they confidently strode into the unending night.


End file.
